


Here We Remain

by CorsetJinx



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: It is quiet within the palace. No dogged contenders left, or perhaps none that have made it thus far. He can hear his brother’s pained breathing.





	

It is cold within the room - vast and empty but for himself and the figure of his elder brother. Outside, he thinks a storm may be raging, trying to pry apart stone, metal and glass to reach its fingers inside. It succeeds through drafts, little nooks and crannies that he cannot see. He’s only aware of it because of the meager warmth it steals from him.

He thinks it must be worse for Lorian - supine as his brother is and still clad in full armor.

Metal scrapes the floor as if in response to his thought. He has learned to distinguish between the sound of his sibling’s armor or the greatsword he carries. Lorian is shifting, ever alert.

How terrible that so fine a person as his brother must be so low, in perpetual companionship with the dirty floor.

Lothric forces himself to sit up, ignoring the tremble of strain that runs down his back. The fringe of his hair and weathered cloth of his hood obstruct part of his view, for all that he knows every inch of the chamber and nearly feels as if he could recount each number of stones.

“Brother…” he calls softly, “A moment of your time, if you would.”

He gathers his magic just as he sees his sibling rise to his knees, golden armor scraping the floor with a painful sound. Light blossoms between his thin fingers, pale and holy, before it wraps around Lorian’s form and brings him to the narrow edge of the platform his bed rests on.

Lorian props himself against one of the four posts, his mouth working though no sound emerges.

“I am well enough, dear brother.” Lothric assures him. It takes him a moment to summon the strength to move, to pull himself closer to the resting giant that is his sibling. Lorian’s head turns to follow his every move, silver hair catching in the grooves of his armor.

Once he is near enough Lothric lifts a hand, drawing on the magic and the memory of warmth, of sunlight and healing. It ripples as it manifests, soft gold instead of the destructive white that usually coats his spells. He casts the enchantment over his elder brother, smiling even as a cough threatens the stability of his breath.

A heavy, powerful hand touches his free one. Lorian’s armor is freezing to the touch - confirming his suspicions.

“I know that you are cold, dear Lorian. Allow me to do this much, as you insist on shouldering all our burdens.”

The chide does not rest well with Lorian. His mouth opens, forms soundless words that he has trained himself to read.

“Rest, brother. I have plenty more magic than this.” He reassures him softly, lifting the hand which cradles his spell to better drive the cold from his sibling’s limbs.

There are no challengers at the door, no Unkindled Ones seeking the souls of the Lords.

It is cold, but his spell drives some of it away for now.


End file.
